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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508378" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>His Boys</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;I'm going, Billy, old fellow. Hist, lad! Don't make any noise.<br>There's Boches to beat all creation, the pitch of a bomb away.<br>I've fixed the note to your collar, you've got to get back to my Boys,<br>You've got to get back to warn 'em before it's the break of day.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The order came to go forward to a trench-line traced on the map;<br>I knew the brass-hats had blundered, I knew and I told 'em so;<br>I knew if I did as they ordered I would tumble into a trap,<br>And I tried to explain, but the answer came like a pistol: &quot;Go.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then I thought of the Boys I commanded -- I always called them &quot;my Boys&quot; --<br>The men of my own recruiting, the lads of my countryside;<br>Tested in many a battle, I knew their sorrows and joys,<br>And I loved them all like a father, with more than a father's pride.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To march my Boys to a shambles as soon as the dawn of day;<br>To see them helplessly slaughtered, if all that I guessed was true;<br>My Boys that trusted me blindly, I thought and I tried to pray,<br>And then I arose and I muttered: &quot;It's either them or it's you.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I rose and I donned my rain-coat; I buckled my helmet tight.<br>I remember you watched me, Billy, as I took my cane in my hand;<br>I vaulted over the sandbags into the pitchy night,<br>Into the pitted valley that served us as No Man's Land.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I strode out over the hollow of hate and havoc and death,<br>From the heights the guns were angry, with a vengeful snarling of steel;<br>And once in a moment of stillness I heard hard panting breath,<br>And I turned . . . it was you, old rascal, following hard on my heel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I fancy I cursed you, Billy; but not so much as I ought!<br>And so we went forward together, till we came to the valley rim,<br>And then a star-shell sputtered . . . it was even worse than I thought,<br>For the trench they told me to move in was packed with Boche to the brim.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They saw me too, and they got me; they peppered me till I fell;<br>And there I scribbled my message with my life-blood ebbing away;<br>&quot;Now, Billy, you fat old duffer, you've got to get back like hell;<br>And get them to cancel that order before it's the dawn of day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Billy, old boy, I love you, I kiss your shiny black nose;<br>Now, home there. . . . Hurry, you devil, or I'll cut you to ribands. . . . See . . .&quot;<br>Poor brute! he's off! and I'm dying. . . . I go as a soldier goes.<br>I'm happy. My Boys, God bless 'em! . . . It had to be them or me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+William+Service">Robert William Service</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508378" data-title="His Boys de Robert William Service" data-description="&quot;I'm going, Billy, old fellow. Hist, lad! Don't make any noise.
There's Boches to beat all creation, the pitch of a bomb away.
I've fixed the note to your collar, you've got to get back to my Boys,
You've got to get back to warn 'em before it..."></div>
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